


You Don't Seem Very Afraid

by TheLittleMuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMuse/pseuds/TheLittleMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he first met John, Mycroft wrote him off as uninteresting and unimportant. Now he thinks John is a most interesting puzzle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Seem Very Afraid

John and my relationship has always been tenuous at best. I suppose, if you wanted an easy relationship, kidnapping a person is not the best way to introduce yourself. It’s a shame, but at the time I was not interested in gaining John’s goodwill. Very few people ever interest me and I had never suspected that John would be one of them.

A lot of things that John said and did in that meeting stood out to me, but one in particular has stayed with me. I had noted that John did not seem very afraid and he had immediately replied that I did not seem very frightening. I had laughed and mocked him, of course not showing that I was at all shaken. It was true that I would not be physically threatening to a soldier, or any man or woman, but I had shown my power, none the less. John Watson had been left in no doubt of what I could have done to him, should I wish.

What manner of man could throw that off with barely a shrug?

Years later, when our relationship had improved somewhat, I asked him why he hadn’t been afraid of me that day. He looked at me calmly. That look has always unnerved me. It’s not a threatening look, merely the look of a man who will do whatever is necessary, whatever it costs him.

Maybe it’s the look of a truly good man. A brave man. I meet so few of those.

And so he looked at me and said, “You could have had me killed, or had me tortured. I won’t be stupid and pretend that neither death nor pain frightens me, but I’ve lain in a ditch with a bullet in my shoulder. I know how to handle them.” He took a deep breath, “There are few things that truly frighten me. Then, the feeling that I was slowly sinking into depression frightened me, the feeling of, well, boredom, that it was all worthless. I’d gone to war, seen a world that was all fire, lost some of my best friends, and come back, a bullet in my shoulder and a leg that didn’t work. Come back to a world that was all grey and hadn’t changed at all. It all seemed so pointless.” 

“So few people understand the concept of missing a war, and believe me I knew what my problem was, I didn’t need you or anyone else to tell me I was missing it. Most would assume you’re a bloodthirsty monster if you told them you’re missing a war. Now what frightens me is the idea of going back to the crushing monotony of after the war and before Sherlock. I did once. I survived, and I can always survive. But if you wanted to control me, take away what makes life worth living.” I almost smiled, because he was admitting it, what they never said.

And he almost smirked, because he knew he had me there, he had won, and he said so, “As cold as you are, Mycroft Holmes, I don’t think you’d do that just to control me.”

Yes, yes, John had outwitted me. I couldn’t control him. Because to control John I would have to harm Sherlock, and he knew I would never do that.

So that’s John Watson. The man who doesn’t fear death or torture, but does fear loosing the man who everyone said no one could care for. Even me, his own brother. John was the man who, after Sherlock had ‘died’ had dug relentlessly at the clues until he found Sherlock, punched him for leaving him, then destroyed Moriarty’s web with him. The man who forced Sherlock to admit he had a heart.

I once said caring was not an advantage. Looking at John Watson I think, maybe I was wrong. Sherlock certainly had always admired John for his ability to care.

Perhaps what _I_ admired most about John was that he was a puzzle. The unassuming doctor in his woolly jumpers. The ruthless soldier. The medical officer. Sherlock’s best, only, and utterly reliable friend. None of them is the real John Watson, yet they all are. At any moment of any day, I cannot figure out exactly what he will say or do, and that is exceedingly rare. John Watson is a puzzle and I hope he shall never fail to entertain.


End file.
